


Ships in the Night

by janvandyne



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mermaid, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Dora Milaje - Freeform, F/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janvandyne/pseuds/janvandyne
Summary: When Thor, the infamous Pirate King, lays down anchor in Wakanda, the last thing you expect is for him to ask for aid from your own king. You volunteer your assistance, leaving the home you’ve always known to set sail with King Odinson and his crew.(Pirate King Thor x Dora Milaje mermaid reader)





	Ships in the Night

_i._

_The Ocean has its silent caves,_  
_Deep, quiet, and alone;_  
_Though there be fury on the waves,_  
_Beneath them there is none…_

* * *

You have no doubt in your mind that  _this_ is Thor Odinson, the pirate king.

He may have sailed into port on a ship much smaller than his fabled  _Frigga_ , but if any man has the presence of royalty, it’s him. His size alone competes with the most powerful of men you have ever laid eyes on; his stature and strength unparalleled to anyone you’ve ever known. There’s no question that this man wields battle ax and war hammer with ease and familiarity, his scars telling stories of combat and conflict.

Even now, laid out in the bath that you’ve drawn for him, his presence overwhelms the room. He’s too big for the tub, calf crossed over shin as his legs rest against the porcelain edge, feet in the air. His thick arms, corded with hard muscle, are sitting on either side of the bathtub, his wrists wrapped round with strings of gold and leather and carved bone, the trappings of nomadic wealth. Both hands boast a single ring, one smooth band, one set with a glimmering red stone. His neck, too, is a testament to his affluence, with lengths of thin gold chains and a single strand of suede wrapped snug at the base of his throat. In each ear hangs small gold hoops.

His hair, sun-bleached and salt-stiff as it is, was weighted heavy with beads and rings and coins before you got your hands on them. Now, the trinkets lay in a small pile on a near table, and Thor, small braids undone, tangles unfurled, sighs beneath your touch as you massage sweet-smelling oil into his recently cleansed scalp.

You’re knelt upon a low, cushioned bench behind him, fingers running through his long hair, then down his neck, across his shoulders. He sighs when your fingertips press against the knots beneath his skin, tension leaking out of his body with the help of your tender touch.

His shoulders are broad, wind-whipped, and stained a freckled bronze. Skin like his doesn’t burn in the sun, having spent his whole life beneath the open sky as pirate prince, and then king. It’s a warm, golden brown, not near deep as those born to your home of Wakanda, but with the passing merchants, the visiting travelers, and those from lands far beyond your own who have settled here, Thor doesn’t stand out as he would have only a generation ago.

Despite his regal appearance, Thor has given you no indication of who he is, merely introducing himself as a captain whose men were in need of warm food, a decent bed, and whatever other comforts they could find. Apparently, comforts to Thor mean a hot bath and the attentions of the most selective and costly courtesan in Wakanda, who caters to only the most worthy of men.

The pirate king would surely be worth your time, and even this man who pretends to not be just that would have caught your eye regardless. And whether or not Thor meant truly to deceive or to merely just go about unburdened by recognition, you feign ignorance despite knowing him for what he is. For who would ever imagine that this man, gloriously nude, in a bath of oils and salts and flowers, is the fleet commander of a hundred ships known as the country of Asgard, both feared and respected on the high seas?

Elsewhere his status would be either an advantage or a burden, but Wakanda is a country of curiosity and trade and peace. She does not persecute pirates as the rest of the world does, even a pirate as infamous as King Odinson. She is open to all, a place to rest, a place to get rich, as long as any disorder or disturbance stays outside of her borders.

Because of this generosity, Wakanda has not been victim to attack since many years before you were born. Those who would raid and pillage give Wakanda a wide berth, or stop only to rest and resupply before being on their way. And Wakandan ships are safe on the seas, her flag a symbol of peace to all.

The nation is ruled by the Black Panther, who is not only her king, but her protector; one of the most formidable men the world has ever known. Besides the king, Wakanda is also under the protection of the Dora Milaje – an elite force of fierce and vigilant warriors who can shift forms from legs on land to a tail in the sea. Their skill in combat is unparalleled to almost any army known to man; their strength as incredible as it is inhuman.

They have been known to dismantle ships from the water with only their strength and a few grapnels. They can lure men to their watery deaths with just their voices and ensnare them with naught more than a touch.

As such, your hands slide down Thor’s chest as you lean forward, fingers pressing into the muscles there. Thor tilts his head back, resting it on your shoulder, soaking the sleeve of your thin, silk robe with his wet hair. He looks unworried and relaxed, his eyes closed, pink lips slightly parted.

You study his face - his strong brows and thick, dark lashes, the lines at the corners of his eyes that strengthen his otherwise soft features. You can’t help but think that he’s absolutely beautiful and much more gentle than you would have ever imagined.

You shift one of your hands up, shoulder flexing beneath Thor’s head with the movement, to cradle his jaw in your palm. You angle his head back even further to kiss his cheek, to nose at the velvet of his beard and breathe him in. He still smells like ocean salt despite being slathered with almond and coconut oils, the saline and sweet scents emanating from warm, wet skin making for a heady combination.

You’re overcome with the sudden urge to taste him, to mark him, so you do, teeth sinking into the curve of his neck and shoulder. It’s not hard enough to hurt him, but it will linger if he’s prone to bruising. And you take pleasure in the thought of him returning to sea with your claim still upon him.

Thor emits a sharp inhale at the pressure, and when you pull back, his eyes open, storm blue meeting your own with a flash of something devious underneath his otherwise docile demeanor. The corners of his parted lips tilt up, gold teeth glinting at the edge of his smile.

“Join me,” he says, with the air of a man who gets what he wants with no more than a simple command.

“There’s hardly enough room for you alone,” you reply, voice soft as to not offend him. “Just relax and let me take care of you.”

He huffs in displeasure but relaxes all the same, closing his eyes and allowing his head to roll against your shoulder once more, face toward your neck. 

“Tend to me, then,” he says against your throat, peppermint sweet breath warm against your skin. “I’m all yours.”

You laugh softly at the declaration, and you can feel his smile against your neck as he presses his lips against your throat. You decide that you enjoy the feeling of his mouth on your body, so you tilt your head to the side, giving him more room to wander. You hum in appreciation as he noses at the underside of your jaw, bites gently into the sensitive skin there.

You feel yourself losing control, the atmosphere shifting to Thor’s favor. Your eyes, which you had not realized were even closed, open and you pull back, but not without leaving a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.

You rise up further on your knees and reach down across the long line of Thor’s torso, feeling the strong muscles of his stomach, the coarse hair below his navel. You can feel his hard cock against the back of your knuckles where it has risen to rest against his stomach, but you don’t take hold of it yet, choosing instead to taunt and tease. He lets out a frustrated sound at your evasion, and you smile against his jaw in response.

His thigh is thick and powerfully built, solid in your grasp as your fingers knead the hard muscle. You have to practically drape yourself over his shoulder to reach, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just turns his head to nuzzle at whatever skin or silk on your person that he can touch.

When you finally do take his cock in your hand, he’s hard and thick against your palm, hot even in the cooling water of the bathtub. He hisses as if burned, hips jumping to thrust his dick up into your fist. Once he settles, you give him one long, slow stroke from base to tip, twisting at the top, then stroking back down again. You keep going, caressing his balls with your palm, cupping them, feeling the weight and heft of them as he moans in response.

You slide your palm back up the underside of his cock, fingertips following after to wrap your fingers around the head, stroking just the tip. You pump him, slow and shallow, the oil in the water slicking your way and making for an easy slide.

Thor’s fingers tighten against the edges of the tub, scarred knuckles going pale at the pressure. He uncrosses his legs and plants both feet on the edge of the tub, giving him more leverage to thrust up and fuck your fist. But it’s not enough. He’s too impatient for your slow and teasing touches, so he wraps his hand around yours, dwarfing your fist with his fingers. He moves your hand, forcing you to go at the pace that he wants, thrusting his hips up as he does.

Gradually, he picks up speed. You try to keep up with him, but it’s too much, he’s too strong, so you just relax, give in, let him use your hand to get himself off. You other hand is planted on his shoulder, fingernails digging into his skin for leverage so that you don’t fall forward.

You’re not even being touched but the sight before you is overwhelming. The strong muscles in Thor’s stomach are bunching and flexing as he moves, the head of his dick, glistening wet and flushed red, is rising from your fist, blanketed by Thor’s larger fingers. Your cunt clenches at the thought of his thick cock inside of you, of him fucking you the way he’s fucking your hand.

There’s water sloshing over the sides of the tub, spilling over you and drenching your robe, but you’re too far gone to care. You barely even realize that your thighs are spread, knees pressing hard against the bench you’re kneeling on, hips undulating in a ragged rhythm. You’re moaning against him, lips and nose pressed against his skin, tasting and breathing in the sun-kissed, salt-steeped column of his throat. 

Following a gasp, Thor grows silent for a moment, breath catching in his chest. His shoulders hunch in on himself, hips still thrusting, driving his cock erratically into your fist. 

“Come for me, Captain,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear. “Please, come for me.”

Thor moans, long and loud and deep, hips stuttering, his fist clenching yours even tighter than before. He erupts, long ropes of come landing on his freshly cleansed skin, covering his flushed, glistening stomach and chest. 

He squeezes, making you milk the last of his come from his cock, trails of pearl white spilling down his shaft, into the bath water. He relaxes after, body sinking down, the back of his head resting against your chest. 

Thor picks up your hand and presses his lips to the back of it, breathing heavily. His kisses up the back of your wrist, rubs his cheek against your skin before you gently slide your hand from his grasp. You dip it back down into the warm and swirling water, then place your palm on his stomach, wiping him clean once more.

**Author's Note:**

> i. quote by Nathaniel Hawthorne


End file.
